The Art of Falling Apart
by Ninjagrrl
Summary: Rewrite. The rise and fall of the infamous Nittle Grasper, through to their eventual self destruction and descent into substance abuse and scandal.
1. Chapter 1

The Art of Falling Apart

Author's Notes- This is a rewrite of something I've been working on for months, before getting stuck, realising the chapter plan was perhaps too ambitious and starting over. I'm much happier with this version and the first few chapters are going fine.

Constructive criticism is very welcome. I'm a little worried Ryuichi may seem out of character, in this first chapter especially. He doesn't really angst much in the series so it's difficult to know how he would react, but I'm trying to write him basically upbeat, but losing touch with reality and becoming somewhat unstable under pressure. I find erratic, unstable behaviour more likely than him sitting in a corner monologuing about it.

Disclaimer- I don't own any of the recognisable characters or concepts. This is entirely non-profit and no copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings- Sex (will be non-explicit, but mentioned), drugs, alcohol use, angst, slash and het, suicide attempt.

Ryuichi is on top of the world, literally.

He's staring at the stars, lying sprawled on his back across the thin edge of the balcony wall on the highest floor, one knee propped up and pointing to the sky, one hand dangling lazily fifty floors above the ground. The slightest shift in his weight could send him over the edge, but he's too tired to care much about it. Or maybe it's because he has no common sense. People tell him that all the time, say that's why he can't live alone or make his own decisions. Despite the drugs and alcohol coursing through his system, he's perfectly balanced there for now, on the knife-edge of the world.

He's currently in one of Tokyo's most prestigious hotels, but he couldn't name which one. They all start to look the same after a few tours, no matter how contemporary the design or how luxurious the rooms are. They've occupied the entire floor for ten days now and the suite is trashed. The bill will be high, but probably not the worst Nittle Grasper have ever run up over the years. There's cigarette burns peppering the imported wallpaper, the cream carpet ruined from days of alcohol and blood and vomit. A few days ago a fight broke out and Ryuichi was woken by the splintering and crashing of expensive furniture being thrown against walls or other people, while he turned his face into the carpet and simply let himself drift away from it all. He had no idea who most of the people there were, even though they included some of the most beautiful and recognisable faces of the time. Musicians, models, socialites, some of the big names in record companies, accompanied for a night or two by an ever-changing crowd of groupies and drug dealers and call girls. One by one, they've all disappeared over the last few days and left him wandering around the enormous suite by himself.

It's peaceful there, until his manager catches up with him again. He needs time to think and it's nice living without the constant crowd of assistants, the psychiatric nurse masquerading as a bodyguard, the personal assistants, all paid off and carefully orchestrated to keep it quiet that there was something not quite right with Ryuichi Sakuma. They all thought he couldn't take care of himself without them, but Ryuichi is doing fine. By night he wanders the suite with a bottle in his hand and thinks he can still hear the music playing on, and by day he takes his pills, lies back on the ruined bed and lets his head fill up with sunshine.

Even though Ryuichi hasn't been taking his medication, Kumagorou is quiet for once, and he can almost think clearly for the first time in years, maybe in his life. The night air is sultry, heavy with pollution that rises shimmering from the world below. He takes deep breaths of thick, smoky air and lets himself choke on it, just a few more toxins this city has to offer that he has yet to sample. He turns his head slightly to glance over the edge. On the road, tiny dots trace the progress of tiny lives in tiny cars and he watches, fascinated by the constant play of lights. The city never sleeps, and without his medication, neither does Ryuichi.

The end of Nittle Grasper is coming, the end of Ryuichi himself. He's read the signs in cloudy swirls of neon cocktails, the patterns ground into stained sheets and the meaningless jumble of lyrics that once meant so much to him. He knows Noriko's never coming back and that's okay, they can afford to lose her and he's happy she's found something stable in her life. But now Tohma is looking to jump this doomed ship too and then there will be no music at all. Ryuichi doesn't want the music to ever stop.

Ryuichi sits up, miraculously not losing his balance and toppling over the edge, the same unconscious grace that appears when he stalks the stage, that his choreographer claimed he was losing. He glances at the other Ryuichi, printed ghostly on the glass balcony doors. The dim reflection is kind, blurring out the dark smudges under his eyes and the sick, worn-out pallor of his skin. Nothing a few days rest won't fix, it's happened before and his manager always admonishes him and sends him away until he's looking better and reminds him how important his appearance is. They only love you when you're pretty.

Something is pressing into the curve of his hip and he looks down, noticing the shadows there. Good, he won't have to watch his weight for a long time. He could even eat ice-cream, if the pills left him with any appetite anyway. The something turns out to be a lipstick, and he has no idea how it got there. He flips the top off, letting it fall silently through the darkness to smash out its life on a street that seems a vertical mile away. It's probably as bright as one of his crayons, but he can't see if the lipstick is scarlet or crimson or bubblegum pink when the moonlight bleaches the colour from everything and leaves it in muted shades of grey. The wax is slightly melted from being in his pocket, and he's surprised that dead-eyed man he sees in the reflection still has some warmth left to offer. It's soft, but it's good enough to scrawl a colourless message on the glass doors.

He's losing track of time. He could have been in the hotel for a week or a month, and nothing to measure it by. He doesn't feel anything to mark the passage of time- the pills stop him feeling hungry and he's never noticeably tired or awake any more, only sleeping to dream away the hours. There's no clues from the world around him either. Room service stopped calling some time ago, maybe because he threw the phone out the window, sick of the twice-daily buzz that cut through his dreams like a drill and brought him back into a world filled with headaches and nausea. He manages a thin, uneasy sleep through sunrise and sunsets and can't turn on the TV for background noise since someone kicked in the screen on the first night. But somehow, he still knows that dawn is coming and it's time all the good little stars went to bed.

Ryuichi boosts himself up onto the narrow wall and stands easily, not unbalanced in the least. Even this high, there isn't a breath of wind and the heavy oppressive air feels thick enough to support him. He looks out over the city laid out before him, and not a trace of dizziness because up here is where he's meant to be. He's on top of the world and there's nothing anyone can do to bring him down, not now that he's really made it. He shuts his eyes and raises his arms by his side as though reaching out for an adoring audience. The dim roar of the city traffic sounds almost like the sound of mingled voices, and if they were only there to urge him on, Ryuichi thinks he could fly.

Everything below him was all grey, nothing shiny left in that world and that's why he's hiding up here right against the skies. There was nothing but the music, and even if his managers put him back together and sent him out again, that wasn't the same any more. His face turns up to the stars, visible even through the city haze, so close he can almost kiss them. He heard once that some of those stars died a long time ago, and all you see is the light they once emitted before they burned themselves out. That there's nothing really out there but cooling dead cinders, even when everyone looks up and sees them still sparkling, shining on. He knows he's burned up long ago, and it's only a matter of time before everyone else sees it too. Ryuichi doesn't think about the pain, and anyway, everyone knows that stars burn up before they hit the ground. The city that made him waits below, crawling with dark nightlife and heavy with sin, ready to swallow him whole. He simply steps out into the warm night sky and his world fills with stars.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes- This chapter is a little slow, since there's a little background to cover before the main plot starts and the band's career begins to take off. And in case anyone is confused, yes, this now goes aaall the way back in time to the beginning of the whole back story leading up to the events in the first chapter.

Some parts may contradict canon. There's not many details given about Nittle Grasper's career, so apologies if I did miss any of the information that was there :). I'm not sure whether it's confirmed information or just a popular idea amongst fans that Ryuichi may be suffering from dissociative identity ("multiple personality") disorder, but I've chosen to write him as being a diagnosed schizophrenic instead. He seems as though he could be prone to disorganised thought patterns, and one could argue Kumagorou is part of a delusion.

Disclaimers- I haven't saved up enough pennies to buy out Gravitation since the disclaimer in the first chapter, and so I still don't own any of the recognisable characters or concepts. This is non-profit and no copyright infringement is intended.

Nittle Grasper got too famous, too fast.

Ryuichi was in a psychiatric institution before that. His only elderly relative had passed away quietly, no one else had shown up to take care of him and so he found himself ready for a lifetime in care at the age of twenty. A short psychiatric evaluation gave his IQ as within average range and he showed no suicidal tendencies or aggression towards others, but his naïve nature and dubious grasp on reality meant he was judged potentially at risk if left alone. In a few years he might have worked his way up to a 'halfway house', back living in the community under a nurse's supervision, with medicated schizophrenics, recovering depressives and agoraphobics as his roommates.

It wasn't so bad there. They tried to raise the mood with brightly painted recreation rooms and group activities and pretty gardens designed without any ponds or concrete surfaces where someone could hurt themselves. But some of the people there were terribly sad and Ryuichi thought it was those years of sadness that had somehow leeched into the air and the walls of the place. Sometimes he thought he could even see it, a dark blackish-green moss that crept over everything and quietly drained the colour from it. But no one else ever mentioned it, and so he kept quiet about it. He'd learned that was best.

The nurses tried to keep things upbeat. It's just that he could see them sometimes looking at him a little sadly when they thought no one was watching, and then it made it harder to pretend everything was alright. He had to work at it to keep things shiny sometimes, to stop the glitter fading and crumbling away to reveal what lay beneath. Ryuichi was aware there was another world just underneath the other one he saw, one much darker and more frightening. Most of the time he could pretend it wasn't there at all. There were just those moments, when his psychiatrist would ask if something was wrong in a strangely gentle tone, and for a moment the sparkle would begin to fade and his voice would falter before Kumagorou took over and made it all go away.

It was Noriko who had taken him away, and he would be forever grateful for that. She had been a patient there once, just a minor breakdown in her teens and they'd turned her life around within two short months. In return, she'd came back at weekends to lead a music therapy class. Noriko was in a small all-girl rock band at the time, wasting her talent for an audience who appreciated them more for their short skirts and raunchy lyrics than for the music. She'd heard him sing and taken the recording straight to Saburo Kuroki, the president of the record company that had signed her band. And that was how he had found himself, waiting in the company president's office.

The last twenty four hours had left Ryuichi uneasy. A few hours after his music therapy class and he was drawing quietly, in the rather calmer, clearer state of mind that singing always left him in. He had trouble keeping his thoughts straight sometimes, but never when he was singing. As soon as the music started, it was though a veil lifted and everything fell perfectly into place. There was no need for pretense, for drifting away into a shinier place. He could look straight at the world without any fear at all as long as the music carried him onward.

Then someone had came into the room and he could see by the nurse's face that she didn't like it at all, but he'd gone with them and answered a lot of questions, the same questions he had already answered the first time he came here. Another man had came in and asked him if he would like to be in a band. He hadn't liked that man very much. He spoke to Ryuichi slowly, in a patronising tone, but there was something predatory and eager about his eyes that didn't match his voice. Kumagorou didn't like him at all, but for once Ryuichi had ignored the rabbit's incessant commentary.

The president's room was a little intimidating after his previous calm, subdued surroundings. It was on the top floor of a tall building, a long spacious room with an entire wall of music equipment and an enormous polished desk carefully placed against a full-wall window, so that anyone facing the president had to stare into the light. It was stylishly decorated in chrome and glass and black leather, in a way that made Ryuichi worry about touching anything. There were awards and framed signed tour posters everywhere. Some of them were interesting, but he didn't want to go look at them, not while that other man was watching him. He was a little frightening. Ryuichi had put Kumagorou in a bag since he knew that other people found the bunny odd, but he could still feel the comforting weight of the rabbit settled against his side whenever that strange look turned on him.

People told him that Kumagorou didn't really talk to him, of course. He'd even had it explained that it was just another part of himself, but being told that didn't make Kumagorou go away. The rabbit even found it funny- when someone first told him he didn't exist, he had laughed constantly for days in a strange, mirthless way that had bothered Ryuichi. That delusion, together with his highly disorganised thinking patterns had given him the blanket label of 'schizophrenia' when he was first taken out of education and assessed. Ryuichi was vaguely aware there was something wrong with him, but the word meant nothing to him. If anyone had cared to explain it, he may have understood its literal translation of "shattered mind". The company president's psychiatrist who had recently reassessed him had thought that it was possible Ryuichi did indeed have some kind of schizophrenia. He clearly had certain delusions and his thoughts were often highly disordered and difficult to keep straight, jumping wildly from subject to subject without any obvious links between them. There were also certain problems with his memory and attention span that could probably be attributed to the disorder.

But there were other signs that were absent in Ryuichi's case. His character wasn't remotely flattened at all, a common symptom in schizophrenics. It was quite the opposite- he was highly sociable, energetic and needed constant stimulation. He expressed a rich variety of emotions and took a keen interest in the world around him. Then there was also the psychological regression back to childhood that Ryuichi often showed. The psychiatrist had found him to be a very interesting case indeed. He hadn't shared his findings with Ryuichi, who had been wondering if he'd "done well" in the tests or not.

"Mr Sakuma? Ryuichi?" He finally realised someone was trying to talk to him and blinked, the room swimming back into focus. Sometimes it was very hard to bring back the world when he went away like that. He could drift in and out so easily that his surroundings just simply disappeared. It was a useful trick at times when the world got too frightening, although sometimes he worried he wouldn't come back at all. "Ready to meet your new band members?"

Kumagorou's voice was muffled, but he could tell the rabbit was whispering something encouraging, and he nodded.

Tohma was particularly pleased with the way things had gone. He had received the phone call from Saburo Kuroki earlier that morning, and once he'd listened to the recordings he was sent electronically, had agreed to quit his current project. Saburo hadn't tried to threaten or force him into joining. He was well aware that Tohma would do exactly as Tohma wanted to do, no matter how much he was bribed, threatened or cajoled. He also had a feeling the icy blonde would end up on top some day, with or without the company. He'd offered him other projects before with a much better chance of commercial success, but Tohma had shook his head, given him that strange smile, continued producing high quality electronic music and was recognised as a genius by a very small, select group of people. Holding out for the right opportunity all along, perhaps.

He swept into the building at precisely five minutes to three, paused to tell the receptionist he'd arrived for the appointment and waited two minutes for the elevator. He glanced at his reflection on the way up and found it as perfect as always, calmly checked his messages and turned off his cell phone in case of interruptions, and with ten seconds to go emerged from the elevator, walked serenely towards the office and stepped through the doorway exactly on time.

Saburo was there, along with Takeo, one of the higher-up managers who had handled some of the most famous bands in the last few years. He nodded at the pair of them politely. Opposite the two stood a young girl he'd seen once or twice before in the building. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face surrounded by candyfloss waves of lush purple hair. A little too perky and young-looking for his tastes though, when he liked women he preferred them to be sophisticated and stylish. He had never seen the young man who clung to her side. The boy glanced up at him, his expression slightly skittish under dark hair. He was quite beautiful, but there was something a little strange about his wide, nervous eyes that Tohma picked up on instantly.

"Tohma Seguchi," Saburo removed a cigar from his mouth to introduce them. "These are your band members. Noriko Ukai and Ryuichi Sakuma,"

"Hey," Noriko said, uncertainly. Ryuichi began to say something, but Saburo cut him off.

"We're looking to move _fast_," He said. "I know between you, you've got two composers and a singer. None of you need any more lessons, but you'll get as many as you can fit into the next few days. Lyrics aren't a problem. I've got armies of songwriters who'll turn those out all day long if you three can't come up with any. There's a niche in the market right now, and I want a single out next week,"

Tohma raised an elegant eyebrow, mildly surprised. Saburo nodded at him knowingly.

"I know you're more than capable of it, Seguchi, and you know what we need. Something catchy, not too ..avant-garde. Oh, make it as technically impressive as you want. I know you're not the type to churn out chart fodder. Just make sure it's something the public will enjoy too,"

Takeo stepped forward. "I'll be managing the band," He said, signing one of the contracts Saburo had left on a low table. Tohma had heard about his reputation. The man was utterly ruthless, but whatever he did, it undeniably worked. He'd managed two of the three biggest sellers in the last few years. One of them was on hiatus, officially due to exhaustion after their fifth world tour, the others had permanently disbanded after the lead singer was left paralysed in a car accident. Oh, they'd managed to get the driver prosecuted and somehow he'd been charged with being drunk while in charge of a vehicle, but if the stories Tohma had heard were true, it was the singer who was coked-up in the middle of the road when the accident occurred.

Takeo was now waving a biro at him impatiently. Tohma ignored it and took out his own personalised fountain pen and signed with a flourish. Noriko added her name, her cramped handwriting surprisingly small and nervous-looking. Ryuichi's signature was awkward and sprawling, spilling into the corner of the paper.

"I have a list of band names around that we're not using-" Takeo began.

"Nittle Grasper," Ryuichi said quietly, his voice surprisingly certain.

"I like it," Noriko said brightly, forgetting her nerves for a moment.

"It has a nice ring to it," Tohma tilted his head, considering.

Takeo looked slightly off-balance. It was obvious he'd had something in mind and hadn't expected any resistance. He looked as if he was going to say something before the company president stepped in.

"Works for me," Saburo shrugged, gathering up the signed contracts. They disappeared into a safe. "I believe you live too far from the headquarters to travel easily, Miss Ukai?" He didn't wait for her to confirm it. "Mr Sakuma will also be needing a place to stay. I've arranged a small apartment near the premises," He waved his hand to silence her as Noriko began to thank him. "You can move in later tonight. I've already arranged a few appointments today to get your image sorted,"

Takeo escorted them out of the office. He clearly already had their image in mind as he glanced over the newly formed Nittle Grasper.

"Wardrobes are already being sorted," He said, eyeing them with some disdain. Ryuichi was dressed casually in jeans and one of the tshirts he favoured, in bright colours and random prints. Noriko had put some effort into dressing that morning, but his expression made her instantly feel cheap. Only Tohma looked as effortlessly stylish as ever, while still managing to look as though he hadn't put any real thought into what he wore.

"You two will need to lose some weight,"

Noriko's jaw dropped, her temper stirring. She had never had to watch her weight, ever. She ate everything she pleased and still managed to maintain a healthy, slim figure. There were thinner girls out there, but she couldn't be called overweight by anyone's standards. And Ryuichi didn't have any spare fat anywhere either.

"The camera adds fourteen pounds, easily," Takeo shrugged. "Either lose it yourselves or I'll sort out a personal trainer, dietician, prescription, whatever. It's coming off,"

After his scathing evaluation of their image, the day went in a whirl. They found themselves in a hairdressers where Ryuichi emerged with a dark green tint to his hair, Noriko's purple was lightened to a silvery lilac and all three were restyled. There were measurements taken, a short meeting with a choreographer, a recording studio session to test Ryuichi's vocal limits. It was late in the evening when they finally were allowed to return home.

The apartment arranged for them was nice enough. Someone had already dropped off all their possessions and Noriko stared at the boxes, a little angry at the thought of someone going through her room and packing up everything she owned. She picked up a stuffed unicorn, aware that the last time she'd seen it, it was sat on her unmade bed as she left her room, unaware that she wouldn't be returning that evening.

"It's going so fast," She said, collapsing into a chair. Ryuichi bounced over. He'd been exploring the place since they arrived, seemingly fascinated by almost everything after his short stay in care. She'd been kept busy turning the taps back off, packing things back into cupboards as fast as he could investigate them and switching off electrical appliances left running.

"It'll be fine, na no da?" He pounced quickly, hugged her and patted the unicorn on the head before leaping up and heading over to the window. "Look, someone's got a cat-"

She watched him a little fondly as he scooped up a mewing, protesting feline that was probably beginning to regret investigating the fire escape running up the building. Noriko could be difficult to work with. None of her previous band members had really cared that much about the music and she'd fallen out with them several times because they thought she was driving them too hard. She wasn't known for being subtle or a great diplomat. Tohma could handle that- she didn't really give a damn what people thought about her. But she'd watch out for Ryuichi. Let Takeo take care of covering up his issues. She'd manage the rest.


	3. Chapter 3

The Art of Falling Apart

Author's Notes- I'm not sure what's happening with this at the moment. Obviously, there's no point flooding the front page with another ten updates if there isn't much interest, but since the real story only begins to start in the third and fourth chapters, I squashed them together and uploaded it to give this fic another chance.  
Disclaimer- I don't own the characters or concepts. This is non-profit and no copyright infringement is intended.  
Warning- Drugs, drinking, swearing, slash and het, mention-of-naughty-occurrences-with-questionable-consent, etc.

Their debut single was recorded on the very first day.

"We're taking it straight to TV. It's good enough to stand alone without a director spending a week putting a video together," Takeo had said, as soon as they had spent the first day in the studio. It had gone unnaturally well. There were no artistic disagreements or equipment failures, no one losing their voices or stumbling over a tricky piece of music. They had recorded three entire songs without a single hitch.

Tohma and Noriko's compositions blended well. His were technically perfect, while hers had a quirky, catchy edge that gave the band a distinctive sound. He'd shown up with an entire album already written and dated from two years before, gave his enigmatic little smile and said nothing when they asked why he hadn't done anything with them before. It left Noriko wondering how many notebooks he had idly filled with beautiful music and packed it away where it would never be heard.

It was also apparent that Ryuichi wouldn't just be a pretty front for the band. While he had no formal training and lacked technical knowledge, he had the voice and he understood music intimately. He couldn't explain it, or talk about _cadence_ or _timbre_ or _pitch_, but he knew what made it work. There was no need to have their lyrics written for them either, not once he'd shown the notebooks he had filled with songs. There were pages filled with his dreamy, multicoloured handwriting penning lyrics in alternating magenta and lime ink. Drawings punctuated the songs, linking them together with candycane striped ladders, glittering spider's webs and trails of shooting stars. There was very little paper left blank. Rainbow titles stretched across purple inked skies, surrounded by tiny galaxies and fantastic flying animals. The lyrics weren't perfect and would need some rewriting to fit the mainstream, but there was something there at the core, an odd poignant line here and there hitting home amongst the soft flow of words. Perhaps it was the lack of perfection that made them work. There was something off about almost every line, but then some of the greatest geniuses in every art field had something slightly skewed about them, about the way they caught the world they saw and trapped a glimpse of it in words or paint or a single sobbing violin solo. Noriko wouldn't have believed some of those lyrics came from Ryuichi if she hadn't seen him scribbling away working on some of them. There was an odd intensity in his eyes then, the same that appeared when he was on stage.

The date of their first television performance came up frighteningly fast as a week passed in a blur of recording sessions and their first photoshoot. Noriko remembered little of those days, everything moving too fast and all they could do was try to keep up as they were shunted from location to location. The photos from that time seemed unfamiliar and remote, as though she had never been there at all. They were the first images of Nittle Grasper released, and they showed the trio in front of a plain white backdrop. There was Ryuichi with his confident stage smirk and his top sliding off one sharp shoulder, a dark-eyed, glossy-lipped Noriko looking impossibly slinky in a designer dress, Tohma with the razor bone structure and cool distant gaze of a runway model. They were too beautiful and perfect, and she couldn't connect them with the memories she must have from those times, of Tohma sipping a latte around his lipgloss, Ryuichi blinking dazedly as cameras flashed and snapped, herself getting tired and temperamental under the blazingly hot studio lights. The time was gone, and before she could pause to enjoy it, they were sat backstage at one of Japan's most popular TV shows.

"You have terrible dark circles under your eyes," A makeup artist said absently, studying Noriko's face. "Do you sleep enough?"

"I can't," Noriko said, her voice suddenly very small. The artist shrugged and left the room to collect her equipment. She was used to hiding a multitude of sins- drug use and alcohol and late nights. She could spray a healthy tan over their pallor, paint away dark circles, smooth over acne or even create shadows and hollows to disguise a bloated musician's weight gain.

"What's wrong?" Ryuichi asked, squirming around in his seat to face Noriko.

"I couldn't sleep," Noriko said. "I feel sick," She hugged her knees. "You have no idea how much this means to me," Her face was terribly pale.

"You don't know what it's like," She continued. "Ryuichi, I'm getting old already. I can't put life off much longer. I'll have to do something soon," And she knew what that something would be without a rich family to put her through university and no other talents to fall back on. She'd been trying to make it as a musician for three years and time was running short. She'd dye her hair back to its natural black, buy a more demure wardrobe, get a temporary office job and still think she'd make it in her spare time. Except there would be no way out after that, and that temporary job would continue year after year while her looks faded and she lost hope. She was a smart girl but she didn't have the brains to make it to the top where few women ever succeeded anyway, and she had no money to go to university and train in another discipline. Noriko would end up another office flower, another nameless young woman serving tea and photocopying and typing up papers and smiling prettily all the time. There was no future and no promotions, and by thirty she would have married one of the businessmen there and quietly retired to raise children, and the music would have ended forever.

The single was being released the next day. There were copies of it at every shop and radio station in the country, delivered today and ready to be released tomorrow. Over the previous few days, their faces had subtly began appearing in posters and advertisements in music and lifestyle magazines, urging an uninterested population to be ready for Nittle Grasper's debut single. Takeo had pulled a lot of strings to get an unknown band on a TV show followed by so many teenagers and twenty-somethings, especially since it would also be their first public performance. The recording sessions and rehearsals had all gone flawlessly, but sometimes that wasn't the same thing at all. The single's performance depended on it, and there would be no second chances in this business.

Ryuichi loved Noriko, in his own way. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be here now. He didn't want her to go back to whatever had frightened her so much. Looking at her pinched features, he made a resolution then. Whatever it took, he would do anything for Noriko.

"Ready?" Tohma didn't look troubled at all. They had been practising enough, and both he and Noriko had performed live before, if on a much smaller scale. They had rehearsed on that same stage earlier without any trouble. He read a newspaper calmly while makeup artists and hairdressers fussed around the three of them.

Into position, and a studio audience used to having beautiful, talented bands thrown at them every week watched back blandly as they moved into their chalked-out positions. The host was still finishing up on the other stage, talking to last week's number one, a beautiful, frighteningly thin girl with a waif-like face surrounded by waves of curly blonde hair extensions. Then he was standing and saying something inaudible, but the lights flashed red indicating it was time to smile and strike a pose as the cameras switched over to Nittle Grasper. Polite applause greeted the announcement, some pre-recorded and the rest cued by neon signs.

For a single moment, Ryuichi faltered. The stage was surrounded by the dim shapes and blinking lights from cameras ready to record every mistake, an audience that couldn't be charmed or won over. Kumagorou was whispering something frightening that sounded like the voices of all the anonymous looking men and women who were watching, ready to see Nittle Grasper soar or fall. Then the music cut in, and everything was perfect again.

They left the stage to applause that was neither canned nor cued, the sort that could carry Ryuichi on forever. There was a constant murmuring and chattering, congratulations coming from numerous glossy strangers who all seemed to know his name, and Takeo whisking them onward past the crowds. Then it was into the empty dressing room, and Ryuichi was shaking his head while Takeo's voice flowed over him, senseless. Eventually, they seemed to accept that he needed a moment to rest, and Tohma and Noriko went back out to meet and greet the other guests on the show while Ryuichi curled up in a chair, a little dazed, but content.

"That wasn't bad. With the size of the audience the show gets, I wouldn't be surprised if you made the top thirty," The producer was there, closing the door behind him. He was an average looking man in his forties with the same designer suit and benevolent, kind-old-uncle smile as the others, but Ryuichi didn't need to be introduced to know this one was important. "Maybe even higher. You have a lot of charisma," He paused, crossing the empty room. The dim lights flashed on his glasses and made his expression unreadable. But his voice had a pseudo-thoughtful, friendly tone as he continued, tapping one thick finger against his cheek as he considered. "But so do thousands of others who never make it. You just need to meet the right people,"

He came in closer, and the murmur and chatter from outside the room seemed very far away now. Ryuichi looked sideways into the mirror and met his reflection's eyes, his nails biting into the chair arms as he watched. Someone was touching his reflection's shoulder, leaning in to whisper to that other Ryuichi, and he wanted to call out a warning, but the words choked and died somewhere in his throat.

"I can _help_ you,"

Ryuichi closed his eyes, thought of Noriko and then simply went away.

- - - - - - -

The news came by two days later, in the evening.

"You're being quiet," Noriko said, poking Ryuichi playfully. The performance had restored her mood considerably. After the show, they had been taken to the sort of exclusive bar she'd never even known existed. Takeo hadn't kept them there long, but she'd spotted more than one famous musician while they were there, and noticed the glances that they were beginning to draw. She had seen Nittle Grasper reflected in one of the glass walls as they sat in a booth, and been shocked by just how well they fitted in. She thought that something would give her away, that they'd recognise her as a fraud and see through the new image to the girl she had been, just an average teenage girl with a bad dye job, hammering out mediocre rock music on a cheap keyboard. But the mirror had shown a glossy, stylish trio that looked completely at home amongst the crowd there.

Ryuichi managed a weak smile, summoning up just enough sunshine to keep the world together. "Tired, na no da,". It was a plausible enough excuse. Takeo kept them busy. The morning after the TV performance, there was an interview for a magazine, carefully orchestrated. The questions were obtained beforehand, answers prepared and Tohma and Noriko ready to cut in whenever it looked like Ryuichi might slip up. Then it was back into the recording studio to finish the album, working throughout the whole day to tidy up and record a few more filler songs. They hadn't even heard their single on the radio yet, or had time to watch any music channels. By the time they got home, the shows had been replaced by late night dance videos. As soon as they had any free time, Noriko wanted to go buy a copy of their single. There was an entire box of them at the apartment, but it wouldn't seem real until she saw it in a shop, no matter how many times she ripped off the plastic covering from one of the new singles, brushed her fingers over their impossibly perfect photos and dropped an unplayed copy into the CD player. She'd asked Takeo if he had any idea if it was selling, and he'd given her a look that she couldn't read. Too soon to tell, perhaps, but he must hear something. There would be feedback and DJs commenting on it and magazines asking him for an interview or for more information about this new band. As the second day passed, Noriko began to worry.

The phone rang. Noriko answered it. Ryuichi watched the colour drain from her face. She only spoke a few words, murmuring something he couldn't hear before hanging up abruptly. She missed, and plastic clattered as she dropped the receiver onto the table rather than its base.

"Noriko-" He went to her. "It'll be okay-"

She walked past him like a zombie, shaking off the hand on her arm as though she hadn't noticed it. He ran after her, a little frightened by the dazed look in her eyes.

"What was it?" Ryuichi followed her as she went towards the television. She picked up the remote, dropped it twice and finally managed to turn it on, flipping to a music channel she sometimes watched. But the only thing it showed on a Saturday evening was the charts, nothing to do with showcasing new, unknown bands.

"Down two places from last week, Nova are still hanging in there at number 8. Rising from-"

Noriko sank into a seat and watched. Ryuichi perched on the arm next to her as they went through the charts, showing clips of videos or live performances.

"And with what looks set to be the fastest selling debut in Japanese history, charting after just two days on sale, it's straight to number one for newcomers Nittle Grasper-"

The screen filled with edited footage of their first TV performance.

- - - - - - - -

The next day, there wasn't a recording session. There was another quick photoshoot, some preparation for a major magazine interview that would take place on the following day, and then rehearsals before a club performance Takeo had managed to arrange for that very night.

Somehow they had ended up at a hotel afterwards, and Ryuichi wasn't sure how anything had happened. The performance had gone well. There was something completely different, something far more exhilarating, about playing for an audience who knew the song. It was an oddly psychosexual experience, stalking in and out of the shadows on stage, bathed in pulsing red lights and the deep primal throbbing of heavy bass as the music blended with the audience's screams and applause. Despite the barriers and the guards between clubbers and stage, there was intimacy in the act, in holding an audience of hundreds in the palm of one hand as for fifteen minutes, their entire world shrank to the performance that Ryuichi could give them.

Then there had been drinks and meeting more people, and Takeo always there by his side careful to watch everything, and somehow they had ended up here. Now Ryuichi rested his head against cool frosty glass and stared at the neon lights pulsing outside the hotel, watching the diluted candy colours washing over the rainslicked concrete of a parking lot. Someone was throwing up violently down there, a bowed platinum blonde head going through the entire spectrum of the rainbow as the lights blinked on and off and stained them red and blue and green. He stood, stumbled and watched fascinated as his outstretched hand slowly reached across space and time to steady himself against a wall that seemed a mile away.

Noriko was sprawled on the floor giggling, her short skirt flipped up to expose the full length of her bare legs. Two men were sat besides her, one drawing abstract circles on the hollow of her flat stomach, the other pouring a sparkling stream of glittering alcohol into her near empty glass. She looked up, moving painfully slow as though underwater. Her eyes were senseless and vacant, but her heart-shaped face split in an enormous grin as she saw him. Her lips were moving, babbling something inaudible, but Ryuichi couldn't hear what she wanted to say and didn't want to hear it either. He stepped backwards away from Noriko until he walked into a wall and stayed there, listening to the steady oceanic rush of blood in his temples, the only constant thing in the world.

Someone gave him a drink, something velvety thick that coated the glass as he swirled it, fascinated. It looked as heavy as thick cream, the deep vital red of arterial blood. It tasted like rotten cherries, overpoweringly sweet for a second before the alcohol hit and its bitter undercurrent cut through the sugar and spice. He lowered the glass, and saw the enigmatic Sphinx smile of the woman who had brought it and waited there now, all tousled hair and sultry knowing eyes. She brushed his cheek for a moment, candyapple red nails whispering predatory against his face, then leaned forward and murmured something into his ear. He couldn't hear the words, but there was no need to when the words meant nothing and the tone said everything. For a second he breathed in the deep jungle scent of heated skin and perfume and was almost tempted to stay there, in the dark safe world trapped between the wall and the soft weight of her chest pressing against his own. He knew there was a kind of comfort to be found there, in the arms of someone who would adore you for a night, and sometimes that would be long enough.

He stumbled out, stepping over and around people. Two of them writhed in time, undulating in slow, languid movements against the thick comforting plush of hotel carpet. He wanted to lie down there too, and turn his face away from the noise and flashing lights, and breath in the quiet calm air filled with carpet cleaner and dust from thousands of shoes. Hands unfolded like blossoming flowers from the shadows, brushing against him, breathless giggling voices calling his name. Kumagorou's voice was among them, and he panicked. He couldn't let things slip, not now.

Into the bathroom. The sterile white light burned and fizzed as it popped into life, and he blinked painfully, fireworks exploding against his eyelids. The club had been smoky and left his eyes dry and sore, but it was his voice he worried about. He couldn't lose that now, now that things were just beginning to stiron a magnitude he could barely imagine. He slid down the wall to the floor and rested his head against the cool tiles, letting the noise drift away.

"You OK?"

Ryuichi glanced up slowly. He didn't recognise the other person who crouched there in front of him. Whoever it was, he wasn't handsome enough to be a model or a musician, and he wasn't wearing the expensive suits that marked the producers, mangers and other important businessmen.

"I guess not. Here, you look like you need this. On the house, since it's your party and all,"

The pills looked as small and harmless as candy. There were three there, all a neutral shade of white and stamped with some generic mark like any other medication. The sight was almost comfortingly familiar. He was used to seeing Noriko or sometimes Tohma holding other pills that didn't look so different, impatiently waiting for him to take them.

He swallowed the pill, and everything was shiny again.


End file.
